3/15/2012

Dave Bonta March 15, 2012 1

A newly-returned phoebe sings from each familiar perch. Up at the other house, the sound of breaking glass. The sky turns white.

1 Comment

Field Note | Via Negativa
12 years ago Permalink

Comments are closed.

Previous Post: Previous Post

Next Post: Next Post

3/15/2012

April 28, 2023
Gray skies at sunrise beginning to tap with fingers of rain on this leaf and that—their first real shower. The avian chorus gains a soft…
3/15/2012

April 28, 2022
Five degrees below freezing. The lilac leaves are already big enough to show their backs to the wind. Four white narcissuses bob and sway.
3/15/2012

April 28, 2021
Hazy sun. The first catbird pops out of a barberry bush, improvising wildly. An ant traverses my collar.
3/15/2012

April 28, 2020
Mid-morning, and the sun looks almost as if it might come out. A turkey gobbles right below the other house, puffing out his chest feathers.
3/15/2012

April 28, 2019
The catbird is back, improvising lines of its spring-long solo in a cold drizzle. The edge of the woods is an impressionist’s soft blur.
3/15/2012

April 28, 2018
Sun warms the porch; a rising buzz of flies. Each spicebush around the farm is yellowing up on its own schedule, bud to fuzz to…
3/15/2012

April 28, 2017
‪The bud-burst woods is a backlit canvas of pointillist green. A pileated woodpecker hops down a log, her scarlet crest flashing as she taps.‬
3/15/2012

April 28, 2016
Cold drizzle. A brown thrasher improvises at the woods’ edge, and I spot the first tent caterpillar web—a tiny white flag in a wild cherry.
3/15/2012

April 28, 2015
Sky bluer than a bruise. A small salticid spider suns itself on my sweater. The first carpenter bee makes a slow inspection of the porch.
3/15/2012

April 28, 2014
On the myrtle flowers, nothing but native bees. The sun fades. A black-throated green warbler calls, switching between its two buzzy songs.

Go all the way back to 2008...

The Morning Porch

Daily short takes from an Appalachian hollow

3/15/2012

1 Comment